


Frienemies

by ellerkay



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Drinking, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerkay/pseuds/ellerkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series showing Damon and Alaric slowly meandering into a relationship, much of which can fit into the cracks of canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: After the first encounter with Isobel, Alaric's ready to get drunk.

Alaric grabbed Isobel’s note quickly, before it blew away. He got to his feet and looked after her, but she had already disappeared. With a sigh, he shoved the note in his pocket. The reunion hadn’t exactly been what he’d pictured, when he used to imagine that there was a chance Isobel could still be alive.

He wanted a drink. Well, another drink. Many more drinks. He glanced back at the noisy, crowded Grill. Being around a bunch of strangers sounded like a nightmare right now, but when he considered going home and drinking alone, he felt nauseous.

Jenna’s? He rejected the idea immediately. It wouldn’t be fair to her, when he’d just be thinking about his undead ex-wife. (Did she count as an ex, when they weren’t divorced? It made his head hurt to think about.) Besides, things were still strained between him and Jenna since she’d told him Isobel was Elena’s birth mother. And he might run into Elena. He wasn’t ready. He’d have to give her the note tomorrow, but it was going to take the light of day before he’d be able to face her.

That left one very bad option. Alaric pulled out his cell phone and wished he’d made more friends in Mystic Falls.

“Rick,” said Damon’s purring voice when he picked up on the third ring. “Miss me already?”

“Is Stefan home?” Alaric asked.

“Can’t you call him yourself and find out?” Damon’s voice was sharper now.

“Just – please, Damon,” Alaric said desperately. “Just tell me if he’s there.” If Stefan was there, Elena might be, too.

Damon was silent for a moment, Alaric’s tone obviously giving him pause.

“Nope,” he said finally. “There was drama, there was blah blah, and I _thought_ Elena was staying over, but they decided to run off to her place. So I’m all by my lonesome.”

“Good. I’m coming over,” Alaric said, and hung up the phone before Damon had a chance to respond.

As he got into his car and started to drive to the Salvatores,’ he expected to hear his phone ring; Damon calling to tell him to stay away, or at least demanding to know why he was visiting. But the phone stayed silent, and in fifteen minutes, Alaric was parking at the top of the boarding house driveway.

Damon opened the door as Alaric approached, and he leaned against the doorframe. The position seemed to scream sex, the way everything Damon said or did screamed it.

“You’ve piqued my curiosity, Rick,” Damon called. Alaric stopped a foot away from the door. “To what do I owe this late-night pleasure?”

“I just want a drink,” Alaric said.

“You didn’t sound like you just wanted a drink.”

“Okay. I want a lot of drinks,” Alaric replied. “Are you going to let me in, or should I get back in my car?”

Damon tsked and stepped out of the doorway, gesturing Alaric inside.

“Touchy, touchy,” he said. “What crawled up your ass tonight?”

Alaric brushed by him and Damon closed the door.

“Do me a favor,” Alaric said. “Don’t ask me any questions about – ”

“About your little mood?” Damon raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Alaric allowed. Damon looked at him intently for a moment, then gave a little shrug and started walking down the hall.

“This way to the booze,” he called over his shoulder.

***

Scotch in hand, Alaric watched Damon add another log onto the fire blazing in the Salvarores’ library.

“This is a beautiful room,” he said, partly because he wanted something to say. He didn’t like the idea of silence right now. But it was an impressive room. He hadn’t really taken stock of it the first time he’d been there. The whole murder mission aspect of the visit had sort of put a damper on his interest in old books and wood paneling.

Damon replaced the fire poker and glanced around the room.

“It’s nice enough,” he acknowledged, picking up his drink from the mantle. “Something to come home to. Hey, remember when you died in front of this fireplace?” He drew an invisible line on the carpet with his toe. “Right about there, if I remember correctly.”

Alaric glared at him.

“Well, what do you want?” Damon asked defensively. He flopped down on the other side of the sofa Alaric was occupying. “I can’t ask what’s got you so keyed up, and you put the kibosh on reminiscing about your wife hours ago. Besides her and the fact that we tried to kill each other one time, we don’t have much in common. I’m just looking for a good conversation starter.”

“Why do you always have to do that?” Alaric demanded.

“Do _what_?”

“Try to piss everybody – ” Alaric cut himself off. He knew Damon was trying to get a reaction, and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Even if Damon was only trying to distract him (and he wouldn’t put it past him; Damon’s ability to unexpectedly show compassion was his most unnerving quality), Alaric didn’t want to argue. He was too weary.

“Fine, tell me about Isobel,” Alaric said abruptly, sitting back and sipping his drink. Damon looked surprised, and Alaric felt a little smug that he’d caught him off-guard.

The trademark half-smirk slid quickly back into place, however.

“What do you want to know?” Damon asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, drink held carelessly in his fingers.

“I don’t know. Anything.” Alaric quickly thought better of that. “Tell me, did she…did she ever mention me?”

“Oh, not beating around the bush tonight, are we?” Damon said. “I thought you were moving on.” Alaric looked at him, and Damon’s smile dried up. He looked away and took a drink.

“A couple times,” he said. “I knew she was married. But she didn’t really want to talk about you. I assumed she’d married below her – dumb or ugly or an asshole.”

“And then you met me, and discovered I was all three, right?” Alaric said sarcastically. He realized he was drunker than he’d thought. He shouldn’t have pounded that first glass. It had been a generous pour.

Damon’s eyes were on him again.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” he said evenly, without a hint of his usual, perpetually joking attitude.

That gaze was more than Alaric could handle, and when he went to drink and cover his nervousness, he found his glass was empty.

“Let me get that for you,” Damon said. The glass was snatched out of Alaric’s hand and Damon was refilling it in one blink. When he resettled himself on the couch, Damon stretched his legs out. His feet ended up centimeters from Alaric’s lap.

“Why did you become a vampire?” Alaric asked.

“Because I was an idiot,” Damon replied shortly. At Alaric’s questioning look, he sighed. “Because I wanted to be with the woman I loved.”

“Funny,” Alaric said. “That’s what I wanted, too.” He slumped back against the sofa and stared into the fire.

“Cliché warning,” Damon said. “But it has to be said: _women_.” He sighed. “Heartbreakers all, aren’t they? Things are simpler with men, but then, I never seem to fall as hard.”

Alaric looked at him so fast he thought he might get whiplash.

“You’re not – ”

Damon raised his eyebrows at him.

“All vampires are at least a little bisexual, Rick,” he said. “Eventually, anyway. You get curious after a lifetime or so.”

“But Stefan,” Alaric tried. “He isn’t – ”

“Stefan’s been, shall we say, _experimental_ , since early adolescence.”

Alaric gave a little laugh.

“Come on, how do you know that?”

“We’ve been brothers a long time,” Damon said. He took a sip of his drink. “I know a lot about him. Probably more than he’d like.”

They lapsed into silence, and Alaric downed his alcohol too fast, suddenly feeling the urge to get out of there. What had possessed him to come see Damon in the first place? It had seemed like the only option.

Alaric lurched to his feet, swaying. He was drunk; too drunk.

“I should go,” he said.

A little wind in his face, and Damon was standing close to him; too close. Alaric could smell his cologne. He was pretty sure it was Axe.

“Give me your keys,” Damon ordered. “You’re not driving home.”

“I’m not going to – ” Alaric felt a pressure at his thigh, then heard a jingling noise. Damon was holding his keys. He lurched forward and stumbled; Damon caught his arm and Alaric steadied himself.

“You’re not driving home,” Damon repeated, musingly this time. He didn’t let go of Alaric’s elbow. “I could call you a cab. Or – ” He paused for so long that Alaric looked at him to see what was wrong, and he got deer-in-headlights feeling he seemed to get so often when he met Damon’s eyes.

“Or,” Damon said again, “you could stay here.”

Alaric gaped. Damon wasn’t – what was he saying? Of course Damon didn’t mean – and even if he did, it’s not like Alaric would – no matter how drunk he was, or how blue the vampire’s eyes were –

“Rick,” Damon said. He snapped his fingers in front of Alaric’s face. “Stop staring at me like I just grew an extra head. Do you want to stay here? This place used to be a boarding house, you know. We have spare beds.”

 _Right_.

“I should go home,” Alaric said, pleased to hear his voice wasn’t as slurred he feared it would be. Damon’s face didn’t change.

“I’ll call a cab,” he said.

Damon followed the cab in Alaric’s car and gave Alaric his keys back when they had safely reached the apartment door.

“Sweet dreams, Rick,” Damon said, too near to his face again. Why did Damon have to be a close-talker? And what was that eye thing he was always doing?

Damon was already halfway back to the waiting cab. Alaric quickly turned to fumble his way inside. All he wanted was to go to sleep. That was _only thing_ he wanted.

***

“As a vampire, your instinct is not to feel,” Damon said. They were waiting outside the Grill while Elena met with Isobel, and neither of them was happy about it. “Isobel took the easier road. No guilt. No shame. No regret. I mean, come on, if you could turn it off, wouldn’t you?”

“You haven’t,” Alaric replied.

“Of course I have, Rick. That’s why I’m so fun to be around.” He fell silent for a moment, and there was something subtly different about his tone when he spoke again. “Isn’t that why you came to see me last night? No emotions, no mess. Just a drink.”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Alaric replied. “It seemed like the simplest thing to do.”

“Exactly. You knew I wouldn’t care enough to make you tell me what was wrong. But I have to say, I’m a little hurt you kept such big news from me.” He said it like he was joking, but everything Damon said seemed to have a double meaning, and Alaric didn’t know what to think.

“I told you today,” Alaric pointed out. Was this why Damon had been extra touchy during the Isobel summit earlier? “Last night, I just – I wasn’t ready to talk about it.”

“Hey, I’m relieved,” Damon said, flaring his eye-beams. “The last thing I need is some teacher sobbing drunkenly on my shoulder about his dead wife.”

“The wife you killed,” Alaric said.

“Are you still hung up on that? Come on, Rick, it was years ago. I didn’t even know you then.”

Alaric looked at Damon quickly, but the vampire was staring into the distance again.

“Would it have made a difference if you had?” he asked.

Damon shrugged.

“These days, who can tell?” he muttered. Alaric couldn’t imagine what sort of response he could give to that, so they lapsed into silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of "The Return," Damon's ready to get drunker.

It didn’t seem funny anymore.  
  
The idea of sex with Damon Salvatore had been floating vaguely around in Alaric’s mind for a couple weeks now, fueled by the looks Damon gave him (but he looked at everybody like that) and the flirty comments (of course, Damon flirted with anything that wasn’t nailed down). Mostly, he’d tried to ignore it, the persistent, nagging attraction. After all, he didn’t have sex with men.  
  
Not since coming to Mystic Falls, anyway.  
  
It always seemed simpler to let everyone read him as completely straight. And it was almost true. After all, he hadn’t dated another man since college. After Isobel disappeared, when it was still too painful to think of being with a woman, he’d found short-term comfort in a couple brief assignations. It chased away the loneliness, for a few hours. But it wasn’t a hobby or anything.  
  
…This was all beside the point.  
  
The point was, since Alaric had stopped hating Damon, he’d found his attraction to the vampire sort of amusing. (The armchair psychologist in him justified the feeling; all that emotion had to go somewhere.) When he let himself think about it, he laughed at his own foolishness. And Alaric kind of enjoyed it when Damon pretended to flirt with him. He knew it was meaningless, and even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t like he would do anything about it. But it was still flattering. Damon was a good companion, when he wasn’t trying to kill you.  
  
The whole thing had become a little less funny after Alaric went to drink with Damon the night Isobel showed up. It bothered him that Damon had been his instinctive refuge. Oh, he had rationalizations aplenty – but he was starting to fear that they were just that: rationalizations. You know you’re miles away from rational when you have to prove it to yourself. Alaric decided that the occasional embarrassing jerkoff fantasy wasn’t as harmless as he’d thought. It was time to stop laughing and put the vampire out of his mind.  
  
And this – well, this wasn’t funny at all. Damon at his apartment, leaning against the doorframe like he couldn’t stand without its support. He was trying to keep his face a blank mask, but painful emotions Alaric couldn’t decipher kept flickering across his expressive features.  
  
“Drinks,” he croaked, when Alaric opened the door.  
  
“It’s late,” Alaric said. “I have to teach tomorrow.”  
  
“I need. A _lot_. Of drinks,” Damon insisted, voice still odd and strained. And he sounded like he’d already been drinking.  
  
“What makes you think I’d even invite you in?”  
  
“I gave you drinks when you needed drinks,” Damon said. Alaric winced. Damon had, in fact, done that. It seemed unfair not to return the favor.  
  
“I don’t know – ” he started.  
  
“Look,” Damon said, finally standing upright and staring into Alaric’s eyes. “I’ve been rejected by two identical women tonight. I don’t think I could stand to be turned away again.”  
  
There was something so raw in his voice, so vulnerable in his eyes…Alaric couldn’t say no. Someday, someone with beautiful eyes was going to be death of him; he just knew it. Hell, it could be Damon.  
  
“Okay,” he said finally, standing aside. “Come in.”  
  
Damon flashed him a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and stepped over the threshold.  
  
***  
  
Halfway through his third drink (it had only been half an hour; damn it, why did Alaric keep getting so drunk around a dangerous vampire? and Damon had barely touched his own, for all he’d insisted he wanted the alcohol) Damon scooted closer to him on the little sofa in Alaric’s drab living room. Their legs were almost touching.  
  
“I want to thank you,” he said, letting a hand fall heavily on Alaric’s knee. His words were a little slurred, but Alaric suspected he was faking it now.  
  
“For what?” Alaric asked. He was too warm.  
  
“For letting me in,” Damon said, leaning in close. “You have no reason to trust me. It was probably a stupid move.” He smirked and drained his glass, then put it down on the coffee table.  
  
“No problem.” At least, not yet.  
  
“No,” Damon insisted, laying on the alleged drunkenness a little too thick. His hand slid a few inches up Alaric’s inner thigh. “I mean I want to _thank_ you.” His eyes were two wicked lamps, winking naughty promises Alaric didn’t want to think about. Or at least, he didn’t want to _want_ to think about them.  
  
“Really,” Alaric said. “You don’t have to do that.” But he wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t even pulling back, and he certainly wasn’t moving Damon’s hand, which was creeping higher by slow centimeters.  
  
Damon leaned in closer, closer, until his lips were by Alaric’s ear.  
  
“But I _want_ to,” he murmured. Alaric didn’t say anything, but he could feel his heart rate shooting up. He wondered if Damon could hear it.  
  
With excruciating slowness, Damon moved his head, his lips almost-but-not-quite brushing Alaric’s jaw. And then suddenly, in the space of an eyeblink, his lips were on Alaric’s, his hand buried in Alaric’s hair. Damon pulled away after only a few seconds, before Alaric had time to decide whether to respond or not.  
  
Damon kept his hand in Alaric’s hair, but granted him a full four inches’ breathing room. His thumb stroked the inside of Alaric’s thigh.  
  
“What are you doing, Damon?” Alaric asked. His tone was warning, but his voice sounded rough and strained, which wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. Accurate though it may be.  
  
“Surely your parents gave you the birds and bees talk, Rick,” Damon murmured, the mocking words incongruous with his voice, dripping sex. “Did they leave out vampires? Let me explain.” He leaned forward again and pressed a kiss to Alaric’s neck, just under his jaw. Alaric could feel his pulse thudding against Damon’s lips.  
  
“What they failed to tell you,” Damon whispered, “is that you should never say no, when a vampire hits on you.” He moved down Alaric’s jawline again, and this time he did drop little kisses there. When Damon reached his lips, Alaric kissed him back, letting his mouth open. His alcohol-muddled mind wasn’t processing much besides how surprisingly warm Damon was.  
  
Then Damon’s hand on his thigh moved a little higher, and Alaric pulled away, inhaling sharply.  
  
“I can’t,” he said. Damon scooted closer to him.  
  
“I’ve got evidence to the contrary,” he said, doing that eye-thing again. It was hypnotic, and Alaric stared at him.  
  
“Jenna,” he said. Damon smirked and rolled his eyes.  
  
“You haven’t called Jenna since you saw Isobel,” he said. Alaric looked away. It was true; he felt like an asshole for it.  
  
And right in front of him was the opportunity, and the means, to feel even guiltier.  
  
Damon leaned in; Alaric leaned back, but Damon kept coming until Alaric was half-reclining against the armrest. Damon straddled his leg with an air of triumph and kissed his neck.  
  
“Besides,” Damon said, “I won’t tell her. If you won’t tell Stefan.”  
  
Startled, Alaric looked at the vampire. Damon’s proximity meant that Alaric ended up with his face right next to Damon’s neck. He was wearing that cologne again. Alaric tried to pull himself together.  
  
“Why?” he asked.  
  
Damon was licking a slow line up his throat, bracing himself on the back of the couch with one hand and Alaric’s arm with the other.  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why don’t you want Stefan to know?” It wasn’t like Alaric wanted to tell Stefan. At all. But it had been an odd thing to say.  
  
Damon pulled back slowly, so he could look into Alaric’s face again.  
  
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said finally. “The lectures, the holier-than-thou attitude…do you have any idea how annoying it is, being related to someone who thinks he’s so _perfect_?”  
  
“Can’t be any worse than being related to you,” Alaric pointed out. Damon flashed him a tight smile.  
  
“Couldn’t possibly be,” he said, and kissed Alaric again; harder this time, demanding. Pinned beneath the vampire, Alaric had little choice (he told himself) but to kiss him back – if he didn’t want to fight him. And he didn’t. Surely, he thought, Damon had been kicked around enough for one night. (Elena _and_ Katherine? What had happened?) It wasn’t until Damon ground his hips down against his that Alaric realized he’d been arching up towards him. He bit back a groan at the friction, at feeling Damon hard against him.  
  
“Well, Rick,” Damon said when he pulled away, his voice a purr. He slid his fingers under Alaric’s t-shirt, playing them over his stomach. “What’s it going to be?” Alaric hesitated for just long enough that an expression moved across Damon’s face; here and gone, but Alaric had recognized it. The uncharacteristic vulnerability he’d worn at Alaric’s door. The expression that had made Alaric, in probably one of his worst decisions ever, invite Damon into his home.  
  
It was as good an excuse as any to give in. After that most fleeting of expressions, Alaric wasn’t sure he would have been able to say no, anyway.  
  
He swallowed, wondering if someone had switched his morning multivitamin with idiot pills when he wasn’t looking.  
  
“I won’t tell Stefan,” he said, because ‘yes, I’ll have sex with you now,’ seemed like a bit much.  
  
For an instant Damon looked surprised; then he gave a low laugh and kissed Alaric again.  
  
Most of the rest of the night was a blur, when Alaric tried to think back on it. The alcohol; or maybe a haze of lust. There were few things that turned Alaric on more than the forbidden, and Damon should have been off his list for so many reasons.  
  
But when Alaric remembered that night, he didn’t think about why it had been such a bad idea. Instead he snatched at fleeting images and sense memories: Damon’s weight when they were still on the couch; Damon’s hands all over him as he stripped him neatly; the feeling of Damon’s pale, smooth skin as Alaric tried to keep up.  
  
“Put me down,” he’d demanded, as Damon carried him Gone With the Wind-style into his bedroom, but Alaric was laughing drunkenly as he swung at Damon’s chest and shoulders in a faux bid for freedom. And Damon was smiling.  
  
It seemed like it should have been less intense in the dark of the bedroom, where Alaric couldn’t see Damon’s electric eyes. But his other senses had been dialed up instead. Damon’s mouth seemed to be everywhere, tasting, teasing him until Alaric was fisting his hands in the bedsheets, grinding his teeth so he wouldn’t start begging. He’d come with a grunt, but it should have been a cry.  
  
Alaric remembered two sharp points at his throat, barely touching, not even breaking the skin, and he’d jerked away, but not – he hated to admit it – not because he didn’t want to.  
  
“Vervain,” he’d gasped. “I’ve been drinking vervain.” He’d started after Isobel’s visit, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.  
  
“Spoilsport,” Damon had muttered, so Alaric had pushed him down and kissed him, tried to draw it out and tease him back, but he was impatient, and Damon’s moans (frequent, wanton) just drove him faster. Damon, though warm, had less of a taste than humans, as though his skin didn’t retain sweat and dirt and molecules of scent the way living flesh did. At the end, he was salty and bitter, with a coppery aftertaste no human ever had.  
  
Alaric felt like himself again when they were done. Himself, with a shadow of guilt and shame. They lay next to each other; not cuddling (cuddling Damon Salvatore was unthinkable) but Alaric was conscious of their arms touching.  
  
Alaric was getting tired, but he fought it. He spoke hesitantly, afraid of – what? Hurting Damon? Laughable. Afraid of sounding like an idiot, more like.  
  
“This is a one-time thing,” he said. Damon scoffed.  
  
“Oh _wow_ , Rick,” he said. How did the vampire manage to sound sleepy and sarcastic at the same time? “Break my heart, why don’t you. Here I thought we were going to be boyfriends and spend next weekend picking out dishes at Pottery Barn.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Alaric grumbled. He’d call Jenna the next day, he decided.  
  
Neither of them spoke again, and Alaric quickly drifted off to sleep. In the morning, Damon was gone. Alaric wasn’t surprised. He wondered how he would have felt if Damon had still been there. Would breakfast have been awkward? Damon seemed like the type who’d be grouchy before he got his coffee. Alaric wasn’t, and being married to Isobel had taught him how to deal with night owls in the morning. Still, it would have been weird to wake up next to Damon. He was relieved the vampire was gone.  
  
Alaric thought he should call Jenna before he went to school, but he didn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Damon and Alaric; they had to have angry!sex sometime. Takes place immediately after Part 2.

Elena, who was normally engaged and participatory (in Alaric’s class, at least), was silent and tense that day. She practically ran out when the bell rang, and Alaric stopped Stefan, who was looking after her distractedly.  
  
“Is everything okay?” Alaric asked him.  
  
“Damon killed Jeremy last night,” Stefan said. Alaric’s eyes widened and he felt a flush spread across his neck.  
  
“What are you talking about? Jeremy was in class this morning,” he said.  
  
“John Gilbert gave Jeremy his ring before he left town,” Stefan explained.  
  
“Did Damon know that?” _He must have; he must have known._  
  
Stefan shrugged.  
  
“He might have seen it. He left before Jeremy came around again. I don’t even know where he went. He didn’t come in until early this morning.” Alaric’s temples were throbbing. Stefan looked towards the door. “I should go find Elena.”  
  
Alaric nodded, barely listening anymore, and Stefan left the classroom quickly.  
  
***  
  
Alaric went through the rest of the day with a ringing in his ears. He stayed at school late, grading papers on autopilot. It was after seven when he finally packed up and returned to his apartment.  
  
The door was locked, but the second he got inside he knew someone was there. Damon appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.  
  
“Welcome home, lover,” he said, eyeing him. “I brought you dinner, but it’s cold now.”  
  
“What are you doing here, Damon?” Alaric asked wearily, setting his keys down on the table by the door. “I told you – last night was a one-time deal.”  
  
“Yeah, I heard you, Rick,” Damon replied, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Then what are you doing here?” Alaric’s voice was sharp, and he could feel his anger rising. Damon blinked, straightening up.  
  
“I brought dinner,” he repeated, attempting a smile, which quickly disappeared at Alaric’s expression. “I was bored.”  
  
“What are you playing at?” Alaric asked angrily. “I thought I was perfectly clear last night.”  
  
Damon frowned. “Fine,” he said. He disappeared into the living room for a split second, and when he reappeared he was shrugging into his leather jacket. “Spend the night brooding, alone. See if I care.”  
  
“How do you know I don’t have plans?” Alaric demanded.  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“You didn’t bother to ask,” Alaric snapped. He shook his head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Damon? You killed Jeremy last night – ”  
  
“Oh, I see someone’s been snitching to the teacher,” Damon muttered.  
  
“You _killed Jeremy_ last night,” Alaric repeated. “And then you had the nerve to show up here, acting heartbroken – ”  
  
“Did it never occur to you that I might have seen the giant, tacky ring on his finger?” Damon asked loudly.  
  
“Did you?”  
  
Damon was silent.  
  
“ _Did_ you?” Alaric pressed.  
  
“Yes,” Damon said. “No.” His tone was the same for both declarations, and he flashed a defiant look at Alaric. “Which answer allows you to keep this self-righteous indignation going?”  
  
“Fuck you, Damon,” Alaric snarled, turning away. Damon was suddenly right in his face.  
  
“That can be arranged,” he said, and he kissed Alaric savagely. Alaric shoved him away; when Damon came towards him again, Alaric punched him in the face.  
  
Damon touched his cheek with a disbelieving expression; a bruise had blossomed and was disappearing just as quickly.  
  
“All right, Rick,” he said admiringly. “I’m starting to respect you.”  
  
Alaric found himself against the wall, his wrists pinned at ear level. Damon kissed him again, and Alaric was responding, half against his will. His body betrayed him; the sex had been _so_ good, and the anger just made him burn hotter. When Damon released his arms, Alaric pushed him into the opposite wall, but instead of ordering him out, Alaric followed him, kissing him until his anger surged again and he bit Damon’s lip, hard.  
  
Damon snarled and pushed Alaric back, eyes red. He advanced, herding Alaric towards the bedroom. Alaric felt a thrill of fear that wasn’t enough to quench his lust or his anger. It was enough to make him go where Damon wanted him to, though. In the doorway to the bedroom Damon grabbed him again, holding his arms behind his back and pressing up against him. He must have retracted his fangs, because the bite to his neck that Alaric received was painful enough to make him hiss, but didn’t pierce his skin. He remembered, then, that Alaric’s blood was poison.  
  
Sucking on his neck seemed to have distracted the vampire, though, because his grip on Alaric’s wrists slackened a little. Alaric jerked one of his hands free and tore Damon’s button-down shirt open, clawing at Damon’s chest.  
  
Damon abandoned Alaric’s throat and tore Alaric’s entire shirt off in one move that left the shirt in rags, then did the same with Alaric’s khaki pants and boxers. He half-shoved, half-threw Alaric onto the bed; Alaric rolled up to his knees while Damon stripped off his own clothes, unwilling to remain lying down and vulnerable. When Damon joined him on the bed, Alaric took advantage of the split second Damon was distracted by repositioning himself and tackled him, sitting on his hips and pinning his arms above his head.  
  
“Well, Rick,” Damon said. “Now you’ve got me. What are you going to do with me?” His voice made Alaric even angrier, that obnoxious voice that still held a mocking tone, that was still so smooth after their fighting.  
  
“You made me a promise,” Alaric said roughly, as he reached for the lube on his bedside table, because he felt like he had to say something. Damon didn’t reply, and a faraway part of his brain reminded Alaric that the vampire could have thrown him off anytime he wanted to. Alaric ignored it.  
  
Alaric had to get off Damon to get into position. Damon didn’t move as Alaric slicked his cock.  
  
“You heal fast, don’t you?” he asked. “Drink human blood, feel no pain, isn’t that the deal?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Damon agreed, and his voice had lost its edge now, but Alaric was beyond caring. He slid into Damon in one stroke, amazed with that faraway place that it had been so easy. Damon inhaled sharply, but Alaric couldn’t tell whether it was pleasure or pain. As soon as he was out Alaric thrust in again, setting a punishing rhythm. He wanted to punish Damon, revenge Jeremy, and himself. They were both the victims of Damon’s cruelty and deception. They were _all_ his victims – Isobel, Caroline, Stefan. The countless people Damon had killed. All of them. Alaric discovered that Damon moaned even louder when he was being fucked than when he was getting head.  
  
When he wrapped a hand around Damon’s cock and stroked him roughly, the noises Damon made reached a new level of pleasure and need, so Alaric grit his teeth and pounded faster, harder. The sound of Damon’s cries as he came drowned out Alaric’s thoughts, screaming how stupid and wrong this was. Alaric followed seconds later. With his release the anger left his body and Alaric dropped onto the bed, limp and confused. He rolled onto his side, away from Damon, and they lay there for a few minutes in silence, not touching.  
  
“You know what doesn’t seem to have occurred to anyone?” Damon said. “If I didn’t see the littlest Gilbert’s ring, doesn’t it seem like maybe, just _maybe_ , I might have felt bad for killing him?”  
  
Alaric didn’t know what to say, and for a long moment, the room was silent again. Finally Alaric started to roll over.  
  
“Look, if you want to stay and eat – ” he started to say, but as he was speaking, there was a rustle and a draft of cool air, and by the time he’d rolled over completely, the window was open and Damon was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-roadtrip, Alaric isn't doing what he should be.

Alaric didn’t see much of Damon until the road trip to Duke. Damon had obviously elected to pretend like nothing had happened between them, which Alaric was glad of when they were in front of Elena. And, he told himself, the rest of the time. Damon was focused on Elena for most of the trip, trying to get back into her good graces. This didn’t bother Alaric at all. He told himself.  
  
Going to Duke helped Alaric feel better about the craziness that was everything about Isobel since her disappearance. Finally, he had no good excuse not to go see Jenna. He decided he would go as soon as they got back to Mystic Falls.  
  
Except that he didn’t.  
  
***  
  
When he opened the door and saw Alaric, Damon narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  
  
“You know, Rick, there are liquor stores in Mystic Falls,” he said.  
  
“I didn’t come here for alcohol.”  
  
“What, then? Is there a new supernatural big bad on the loose? Did your wife’s research indicate the presence of malevolent pixies in the next county over?” He cocked his head. “Don’t tell me this is a _social_ call. That was a one-time thing – oh, I’m sorry, two-time.”  
  
“Can I come in?” Alaric tried. Damon didn’t move.  
  
“Why are you here?” he asked, enunciating clearly, as if talking to someone none too bright.  
  
“I don’t know!” Alaric blurted out.  
  
Damon raised his eyebrows at him. Alaric tried to collect himself.  
  
“I mean, I’m not sure. You seemed sort of…off, today. I thought you might want to talk.”  
  
“Oh, you thought I might want to _talk_. Project much? Listen, Rick, here’s what happened between us. We fucked once, and it was fun. We fucked again, and it was…well, it was kind of _mean_.” Alaric flushed with shame under Damon’s steely gaze. “This does not add up to us being best friends and sharing our feelings.” He started to close the door.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Alaric said quietly. The door swung open again.  
  
“What did you say?” Damon demanded.  
  
“I said, I’m sorry,” Alaric repeated. “If I was…mean.” Damon stared at him. “I was angry, but I shouldn’t have – I should have just said no, not done what I did.”  
  
“Let me get this straight. I killed someone, and you’re apologizing to me?”  
  
Alaric shrugged and managed a half-smile.  
  
“Weird, huh?” he said. Damon’s eyes still hadn’t left his.  
  
“I assumed you hated me. Like Elena. And everyone.” His mouth twisted bitterly.  
  
“You said you were sorry for it,” Alaric replied.  
  
“I don’t remember saying that.”  
  
Alaric refused to take the bait.  
  
“Close enough,” he replied. “I take it that wasn’t enough for Elena?”  
  
Damon frowned.  
  
“I am not going to stand on the doorstep and discuss Elena Gilbert with you,” he said. Alaric nodded and started to turn away.  
  
“Come inside, Rick,” Damon clarified in a long-suffering tone.  
  
***  
  
Alaric wasn’t particularly surprised that once he got inside, Damon avoided talking about Elena and started pouring them drinks instead. Alaric sat on one of the couches while Damon stoked the fire and added another log. Then – and this was a bit of a surprise – Damon sprawled on the carpet in front of the fireplace, instead of joining Alaric on the couch. A few sips of brandy later and Alaric had joined him on the floor, carefully not thinking about why he was doing that. Carefully ignoring his failure to ignore the urge to be closer to the vampire.  
  
Damon watched the fire moodily. He took a large swallow of his drink.  
  
“So, Rick, you’re an academic. You’ve studied vampires. Tell me…why do you think I’m such a fucking _idiot_?”  
  
“Well, that’s a broad question, Damon. In what specific area?”  
  
Damon’s smile was really a grimace. “Take a guess.” He drank again, his glass nearly empty already.  
  
Alaric sipped to give himself a moment to think. “You’ve been hurt,” he said finally, uncomfortably. “I can relate. I mean, Katherine was – ”  
  
Damon exhaled loudly. “Jesus, don't you know a rhetorical question when you hear one?” He threw back the rest of the drink and banged his glass down on the floor. Considering Damon’s strength, Alaric was amazed it didn’t shatter. Damon went back to staring into the fire, and Alaric tried to think of what he should say.  
  
“I’m sorry – ” Alaric started.  
  
“Stop apologizing,” Damon snapped, but without any real enthusiasm.  
  
“Okay,” Alaric said. He set his glass down on the hardwood floor and moved a little closer to Damon. He stretched his legs out and rested on his hands, staring into the fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damon look at him, so he looked back. Damon was frowning deeply, but more as if he was puzzled than as if he was angry.  
  
His expression cleared a little and he moved in very slowly. Alaric’s heart pounded, but Damon stopped with his lips centimeters from Alaric’s.  
  
“Why don’t you hate me?” he asked very softly. Alaric shook his head a little.  
  
“I don’t know,” he replied in a low voice.  
  
Damon kissed him then, long and slow. Alaric’s hands hurt and his back was cramping, but he didn’t want to stop the velvet brush of Damon’s tongue in his mouth, didn’t ever want to stop when Damon gave a small moan against his lips. As if it was a signal they kissed harder then, and Damon grabbed Alaric’s shirt with one hand and yanked him closer, and then Alaric was on his back on the floor, Damon straddling his leg and running his hands over Alaric’s chest, his stomach.  
  
“Stefan – ?” Alaric started to ask.  
  
“Do you have to call out my brother’s name?”  
  
“Is he home?” Alaric finished.  
  
Damon bent down so his lips were right next to Alaric’s ear. “No,” he whispered. Alaric had never thought of it as a sexy word before. He caught Damon’s lips and pulled himself up into a seated position. Damon was making fast work of Alaric’s shirt, and when he had it off he flung it away. Alaric pulled Damon’s shirt over his head, surprising himself with his own eagerness as he ducked his head to kiss Damon’s shoulder, his neck. Damon was silent at the treatment, which made Alaric nervous. Silence from Damon, who always had an answer and an opinion and a snarky comment, felt eerily portentous.  
  
But when Alaric looked up to try and read Damon’s face, Damon just kissed him until he was short of breath.  
  
“Lie down,” Damon murmured when he allowed Alaric some air, and Alaric obeyed. For a moment Damon just stared at him, playing his fingers down Alaric’s torso. Alaric watched, noting how pale Damon’s skin looked in the firelight, especially next to his own ruddy complexion. The silence was just starting to make him anxious when Damon leaned down and started kissing his way down Alaric’s chest. Alaric’s breath caught and he arched upward. Damon’s fingers were at his fly, and in a few seconds he was sliding Alaric’s pants off.  
  
Damon pulled Alaric’s boxers down but didn’t bother taking them off, and a second later he was licking a slow line up his cock. Alaric groaned, groping out blindly, his hand landing on Damon’s shoulder. Damon was teasing him with short licks around the head of Alaric’s cock. Alaric’s breath came fast, and finally Damon took him slowly down his throat. Alaric thrust up without meaning to, and Damon ran his tongue along his shaft.  
  
“Fuck, you’re good at that,” Alaric gasped out. Damon lifted off and smirked at him.  
  
“A hundred plus years of practice has its advantages,” he said, and lowered his head again.  
  
For a few minutes the room was nearly silent except for Alaric’s moans and the crackle of the fire. Alaric was loathe to stop any of this, but his back gave a twinge and he suddenly worried that Stefan would arrive home. Reluctantly, he squeezed Damon’s shoulder and Damon raised his head.  
  
“Maybe we should go upstairs?” Alaric said. Damon got to his feet and offered Alaric a hand up. Alaric had barely gotten his boxers pulled up again before Damon had grabbed him around the waist and thrown him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.  
  
“Damn it, Damon!” Alaric shouted, starting to laugh in spite of himself. Damon snickered and they were upstairs before Alaric could get really annoyed. It was mildly preferable to the Clark Gable treatment, anyway.  
  
“You’re an asshole,” Alaric said, still smiling, when Damon had thrown him on the bed.  
  
“Fuck you, Rick,” Damon replied affably.  
  
Alaric swallowed. “If you want to,” he said. Damon looked at him, and then he was suddenly right in Alaric’s face.  
  
“If this is a tit for tat deal, I’m not interested.” He sounded a little angry, and Alaric frowned. “I don’t want you apologizing to me again.” He stared intently into Alaric’s eyes.  
  
“That’s not why I’m offering,” Alaric said finally.  
  
“No?” Damon narrowed his eyes at him, then grinned suddenly. “Good. Lie down.”  
  
Alaric smiled a little, and lay down, pulling off his boxers as he did. He watched Damon strip off the rest of his clothes, just slowly enough to make it a bit of a show. Damon grabbed a bottle out of his nightstand table and joined him on the bed, slicking his fingers.  
  
“Tell you’ve done this before,” Damon said, circling Alaric’s entrance with a slippery finger.  
  
“Yeah,” Alaric said, gasping as Damon pushed slowly into him. “But it’s, uh…” He breathed slowly, getting used to the sensation. “It’s been awhile.”  
  
“I’ll have to be gentle, then,” Damon murmured. He took his time, stretching Alaric until Alaric was writhing under him.  
  
“Enough,” he said finally. “I’m ready, already.”  
  
Damon grinned again and withdrew his fingers. A moment later he was sliding in. Alaric groaned, hips rising to meet him. Damon exhaled sharply.  
  
“Fuck,” he said, leaning down to kiss Alaric fiercely. He wrapped his hand around Alaric’s cock and started thrusting, timing the long, slow strokes with the movement of his hand.  
  
He went on like this for long minutes that seemed longer, barely increasing his pace, occasionally raising his eyes to Alaric’s face to gauge his reactions. It occurred to Alaric at some point that this was the polar opposite of when he’d fucked Damon. Maybe this was Damon’s version of revenge. Alaric firmly pushed the thought away, losing himself in the sensation, in how impossibly good this felt.  
  
After what felt like hours, Damon started thrusting harder, gradually gaining speed. Alaric bucked when Damon hit his prostate and Damon stroked him faster; a twist of Damon’s hand and Alaric came, crying out. When he was done Damon released his cock and bent down to kiss him hard, coming with a strangled moan.  
  
Kissing Damon, Alaric realized, tended to have an amnesiac effect on him. The blood that should have been running his brain rushed south, and he forgot things. That he really hadn’t intended to do this a third time. That it was starting to look more like a pattern than a random occurrence. That he was supposed to be reconciling with Jenna. That there was anything of any urgency or importance in the world besides his erection.  
  
When the amnesia wore off, Damon was – as far as Alaric could tell – already asleep, and Alaric knew he should go home. But he was halfway to unconsciousness himself, and after all, the next day was Sunday, so he wouldn’t have to rush to school. He’d leave first thing in the morning.  
  
***  
  
When he woke up, Alaric was alone in the bed and sunlight streamed in through the windows. After relieving himself in the bathroom off Damon’s room, Alaric hunted for his clothes, finding only his boxers. The rest, he realized, were probably still strewn about the library.  
  
Knowing one of Damon’s shirts would probably be uncomfortably small and tight, considering their differences in height and how Damon always seemed to wear clothing that was spray-painted on, Alaric elected not to borrow one and instead wandered downstairs in just his boxers, following the smell of coffee and the sound of movement to the kitchen.  
  
“Morning,” Alaric called as he approached the doorway – and saw Stefan, who had turned at the sound of his voice and was now clearly at a loss. Alaric froze.  
  
“Good morning,” Stefan said, blinking. “Uh, would you like some coffee?”  
  
“Sure,” Alaric said, trying to pretend this wasn’t desperately awkward for them both. “I’m going to, um, try to find my clothes.”  
  
“I’d appreciate that,” Stefan replied.  
  
Alaric turned and walked as fast as he could without actually running to the library, where he found his shirt tossed over a lamp and his pants crumpled in a heap, half under a chair.  
  
When he returned to the kitchen, Stefan asked how he wanted the coffee.  
  
“Milk, no sugar,” Alaric replied, feeling only marginally less weird now that he was clothed. Stefan handed him a steaming mug and Alaric received it gratefully.  
  
“Something to eat?” Stefan asked.  
  
“Not yet, thanks,” Alaric replied. Stefan sat across from him and for a moment they both sipped their coffee in silence.  
  
“Damon, uh, went for doughnuts,” Stefan said finally. “He should be back any minute.”  
  
“Okay,” Alaric replied.  
  
“He told me he had a guest, but he didn’t say it was you,” Stefan continued, watching Alaric carefully for a reaction. Alaric shrugged.  
  
“It’s me,” he said.  
  
“Look,” Stefan said. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But Damon is – you know what he’s like.”  
  
“I’ve met him, yeah.”  
  
“And with Katherine running around – just, be careful. He’s not predictable.” Alaric nodded, and Stefan watched him take a sip of coffee. “And also…” He paused for a long time.  
  
“What?” Alaric prompted him finally.  
  
“He’s vulnerable. I know he doesn’t act it, but he is. Now more than I’ve seen him since before we became vampires. So if this is part of some plan to get revenge on Damon – ”  
  
Alaric started to laugh and Stefan grabbed his wrist.  
  
“If this is part of some revenge scheme, you should consider dropping it. Right now,” he said. His voice was hard. Alaric put down his coffee.  
  
“Isobel made her own choices,” he said. “Damon didn’t force her. If it hadn’t been him, she would have found another vampire. I’ve had to accept that. I tried to keep hating him, after I found out the truth. But I couldn’t.”  
  
Stefan released his arm, nodding.  
  
“Okay, then,” he said.  
  
“I’d prefer you didn’t tell Elena. For now,” Alaric said. “It’s just – with Jenna…”  
  
“Okay,” Stefan said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but they heard the front door open and then slam shut.  
  
“I’m home,” Damon singsonged. “Who wants jelly? Stefan, I’m looking at you…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are we doing here?" Alaric asked.

“What are we doing here?” Alaric asked, finally voicing the question that had been quietly stalking him, unbidden and unwelcome, for the last two weeks.  
  
“Hmm?” Damon asked distractedly, his eyes glued to the TV screen. They were in Alaric’s bedroom, half under the covers. Neither had bothered to get dressed after the first portion of the evening’s entertainment. Now they were watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. Again. Damon had revealed an unhealthy and rather disturbing obsession with the show; upon discovering that Alaric had never seen it, he had insisted they start from the beginning.  
  
Alaric rather liked it, which surprised him. He’d never been one for teen dramas, even when he was a teen himself. But though the show was well-written and he liked the characters, he was finding it impossible to concentrate that night. He grabbed the remote and paused the show.  
  
“Hey, hey!” Damon protested.  
  
“What are we doing here?” Alaric repeated.  
  
“We _were_ watching TV,” Damon said, grabbing half-heartedly at the remote. Alaric held it away, aware that Damon could have snatched it out of his hand in a split second. Which meant Damon was letting him talk.  
  
“That’s not what I mean.”  
  
“Seems a little soon for the ‘relationship talk,’ doesn’t it?” Damon asked, using air quotes because he’d discovered a few days ago that Alaric found them deeply irritating. “Could you be more of a girl?”  
  
“I know we don’t have a relationship,” Alaric said, exasperated. “I just mean – ”  
  
“Yes?” Damon stared at him from under his dark brows, half-wary, half-accusing; ready to defend himself in whatever direction the situation required. Alaric froze, cursing himself for starting a conversation he couldn’t finish.  
  
What _did_ he mean? It was all so…unnerving. For the last few weeks – ever since Stefan found out about them – Alaric had slept at Damon’s place (or vice versa) a good dozen times. Alaric knew what it was like to wake up next to Damon (alarmingly, it was sort of nice). And he finally had to admit that he enjoyed the vampire’s company. Damon was obnoxious, but he was fun, and when he let his guard down a little he was kind of a good guy.  
  
Stefan had waited nearly a week before he nagged Alaric about wanting to tell Elena. Alaric asked for another day and called Jenna, feeling guilty and incredibly awkward. He’d never even gotten around to telling her that he had occasionally fucked men. He went over for coffee, which Jenna – given the news – barely touched. It went about as badly as he expected. He was relieved that Jenna didn’t want to talk it out for long.  
  
“So you’re dating him?” she’d asked. Alaric shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
  
“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean – it looks like that, I know. But I’m not sure.”  
  
Mercifully, she didn’t press further, but as she was showing him out (after they’d agreed to be friends, with false optimism), she spoke again.  
  
“Alaric,” she said, and then hesitated, seeming to struggle with herself for a moment. Alaric waited patiently.  
  
“Be careful,” she said finally. “I’ve dated guys like Damon. It’s easy to get hurt.”  
  
_You have no idea_ , Alaric thought, but he just nodded and thanked her.  
  
“All right, Rick, what are you looking for? You want me to buy a class ring so you can wear it on a chain around your neck? I’m sorry, I can’t give you this one.” Damon waggled the fingers of his left hand, where he wore the sun ring. “Or, what about a pin?” He smirked. “I think I’ve already proven that I’m very good at pinning you.”  
  
“Never mind,” Alaric muttered, shaking his head. He raised the remote, intending to resume the episode, but Damon’s hand closed on his wrist. Alaric looked at him, and Damon was wearing one of his rare serious expressions.  
  
“I think that we have something decent here,” Damon said. Something flickered across his face. “I don’t have that many good things. Mostly because if I look at them too closely, they tend to explode in my face.”  
  
Alaric nodded slowly. Damon released his arm and Alaric hit play.  
  
***  
“You like this one, don’t you?”  
  
“Couldn’t care less,” Damon said. “Stop wasting your time with him, Katherine.”  
  
Alaric was pinned up against a wall, his arm twisted painfully behind him, Katherine’s small hand just a little too tight around his throat. She pushed harder on his wrist and Alaric couldn’t suppress a grunt of pain. Damon took an involuntary half-step towards them, and Katherine laughed triumphantly.  
  
“I wouldn’t have thought he was your type, Damon,” she mused. “He is cute, though. So scruffy and impassioned.” She released Alaric’s neck long enough to slide her fingers through his hair. “I can see why Isobel liked him.” Her hand closed on his throat again. “And I can see why she got bored with him.”  
  
“So can I,” Damon snorted. “Sure, we might have a little bit of a thing going – for now. But believe me, Katherine, it’s temporary. I couldn’t care less about the teacher.”  
  
“Oh, Damon,” Katherine sighed. “Sometimes, you are a _very_ bad liar.” She twisted her hand and snapped Alaric’s neck. He felt nothing as he fell to the ground, and darkness clouded his vision, and then there wasn’t anything.  
  
***  
Coming back from the dead was like waking up from a nightmare that left his mind as soon as his eyes opened. Alaric gasped and sat up, staring around wildly. His neck made an awful crack as his spine settled into position again.  
  
He smelled smoke. Damon was next to him with a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. Alaric had only seen him smoke a few times.  
  
“Where’s Katherine?” he croaked, willing his heart – racing, as if trying to make up for lost time – to slow down.  
  
“Gone,” Damon replied.  
  
“Why didn’t you go after her?”  
  
“I wanted to make sure you were going to be all right.” Damon took a long drag of the cigarette, then exhaled it sharply. He leaned forward and kissed Alaric fiercely, gripping the back of his neck.  
  
“Of course I was all right,” Alaric said when Damon released him. “You should have gone after her.”  
  
“She wasn’t going to do anything else.”  
  
“How do you know that?” Damon didn’t answer, and Alaric sighed. “I guess she didn’t see the ring.”  
  
Damon rolled his eyes. “She saw the ring. She was just playing with me. She wanted to be sure I knew that _she_ knew that you mean something to me.”  
  
Alaric frowned. “That I – what?”  
  
“Did you come back _deaf_?” Damon snapped.  
  
Alaric blinked. “Are you going to offer me a drag of that, or what?” he said finally. “I just rose from the dead. I need a smoke.”  
  
Damon wordlessly handed him the cigarette, and let Alaric finish it. When he’d stubbed it out, Damon jumped to his feet and pulled Alaric up.  
  
“Let’s get going,” Damon said. He was avoiding Alaric’s eyes, and it took Alaric a moment to realize why. By the time he had, Damon was already a couple paces in front of him. Alaric caught up and touched his shoulder.  
  
“Damon – ” Damon whirled around, face guarded. Alaric paused, trying desperately to figure out how to say this.  
  
“Do you think she noticed?” he asked finally. Damon frowned.  
  
“Noticed what?”  
  
“I mean,” Alaric said, “if Katherine saw that I – care about you, too – that’s one more weapon in her arsenal.”  
  
Damon’s face relaxed slowly and he gave a little laugh.  
  
“This is some impressive emotional maturity we’ve got between the two of us, don’t you think, Rick?” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go back to my place. You’ve got to see the season two finale.”  
  
Not that Alaric would ever have admitted it to Damon, but he was looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The TVD Television Without Pity recapper gets the credit (or blame) for my infatuation with the idea of Damon's infatuation with BtVS.


	6. Bloodstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alaric stopped drinking vervain awhile ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a stand-alone story in the Frienemies series; it takes place at a somewhat indeterminate point but definitely after part 4. You probably don't have to have read Frienemies to get this; all you need to know is that Damon and Alaric as established at least inasmuch as they've been sleeping together.

It was dark in Damon’s bedroom. He’d shut the heavy drapes on the windows, and the only source of illumination was the tiniest strip of faint light coming in from under the door.  
  
In the dark, Alaric felt more keenly the slide of Damon’s skin smooth on his, the hardness of muscle and bone, the humid brush of lips, the insistent press of arousal. The rustle of the expensive sheets, the gasps and moans from his mouth or Damon’s, and all the weird, wet sounds of sex were dialed up.  
  
So, as Damon planted kisses on his jaw and neck, Alaric heard him give a low sound like a growl, and then there was a soft, strange crackling noise. Damon turned his head away with a frustrated little moan under his breath; almost subsonic, if Alaric had been distracted by sight. Damon was fast – faster than anything – but not quite fast enough, because Alaric had noticed the twins pricks of sharp teeth against his neck.  
  
Alaric’s heart pounded faster as he weighed his options. Damon had stilled for a moment; Alaric knew he was letting the blood drain out of his eyes again, willing his fangs to retract. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, or the second. Alaric made his decision.  
  
“Do it,” he said, voice rough with nerves (excitement and fear, always a heady combination). There was a long silence.  
  
“Do what?” Damon asked. There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but something else, too. He was surprised, unsure. Alaric liked to inspire those emotions in him. It was rare.  
  
“Bite me,” he said. He couldn’t suppress a tiny breath of laughter. “Drink my blood.”  
  
Damon shifted fast then, pinning Alaric’s wrists and hovering over him. Alaric could hardly see him, but he knew the vampire could make out every detail of his face.  
  
“What are you trying to pull, Rick?” Damon asked. He was trying to sound casual, but he was still wary. “You drink vervain. You told me, remember?”  
  
Alaric gave just the faintest smirk, feeling pleased and in control, even though he was the one being held down.  
  
“I stopped,” he said. Damon didn’t immediately reply, and Alaric wondered if he was scrutinizing Alaric’s expression.  
  
“When?” Damon asked finally, and Alaric shifted a little then, uncomfortably, letting his eyes flick away from the pale blur of Damon’s face.  
  
“Awhile ago,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. “I don’t remember exactly.” That _was_ a lie.  
  
Damon’s grip on his wrists tightened.  
  
“When?” he repeated.  
  
“It’s definitely out of my system by now,” Alaric tried. Damon leaned down, lips just next to Alaric’s ear.  
  
“Tell me when, Rick,” he whispered.  
  
Alaric considered refusing to answer. Damon would probably do it even if he didn’t give him a timeframe, and if he didn’t want to, then it was no skin off Alaric’s teeth. Damon would only be denying himself a snack.  
  
But – and he’d had to come to terms with this as he decided to make the offer – Alaric wanted to know what it was like. He wanted Damon to bite him. He’d fantasized about it. And what did it matter if he told the truth, anyway?  
  
“It was after the first time we – did this,” Alaric admitted, finally. Damon pulled back sharply, to stare into his eyes again, Alaric assumed. To try and determine whether he was telling the truth. Alaric wished he could see Damon’s face, to attempt to read Damon’s reaction.  
  
The reaction wasn’t too much of a surprise, when it came. Alaric heard the little crackling noise again and then Damon’s head plunged down. Alaric tensed, but Damon stopped short, lips on Alaric’s throat. Alaric turned his head to give Damon better access, but the vampire still didn’t take the bait. He released Alaric’s wrists and let his fingers play down the inside of his arms. Then he started kissing Alaric’s neck, over and over, tongue darting out to taste Alaric’s skin, nipping a few times with his front teeth. Alaric’s breath grew shorter with anticipation, and Damon’s caresses became faster, more frantic, as the seconds ticked by. Finally, with a sigh, Damon slid his fangs in.  
  
For a split second it didn’t hurt, and then the event reached his brain and Alaric winced at the pain, the intrusion, hands reaching up instinctively to curl around Damon’s upper arms. For a second Alaric had to fight the instinct to try and throw the vampire off him, but as quickly as the pain had arrived it was gone. A wave of pleasure swept him from head to toe, centered on the two wounds in his throat, and Alaric’s body relaxed. He felt comfortable, warm, and he almost would have been drowsy if the arousal wasn’t so intense, if Damon hadn’t been rubbing against him, moaning into his neck. Damon ran his hand down Alaric’s chest, his torso; instead of the light, teasing touch that was his forte, he was pressing into Alaric’s skin as if trying to get closer to him. When he reached his cock Damon pumped Alaric in time to the beating of his heart. Alaric came with a gasp; his orgasm occurring without warning, like when he came in a dream.  
  
Everything had a dreamlike quality, Alaric realized as the post-orgasmic shudders subsided. Damon’s relentless mouth at his throat, Damon’s increasingly frantic thrusts against the hollow of his hip, and the warm splash against his stomach as Damon shuddered and slowed. Damon gave a disappointed groan as he lifted off Alaric’s neck, and Alaric heard an echo of the same noise from his own lips.  
  
“Don’t,” he murmured, not really thinking about what he was saying. Damon’s lips were on his, and Alaric tasted copper and salt.  
  
“Believe me,” Damon said languidly, “I’d rather not stop. But, if I want you around for fast food another time…”  
  
Alaric laughed, his head starting to clear. Damon lay next to him, a hand on Alaric’s chest, and they were silent for several minutes as Alaric tried to process the experience, and Damon thought about whatever it was he thought about after sex.  
  
“Why in the hell would you stop taking vervain?” Damon asked suddenly. “This town is crawling with dangerous vampires.”  
  
“I still carry a sprig of it,” Alaric said. “I’m not an idiot.”  
  
“You’re naked,” Damon said. “And unless you’re hiding it up your ass – which I sincerely hope you’re not because that could have been a _very_ nasty surprise for me – you don’t have any on you right now. Ergo, you _are_ an idiot.”  
  
Damon said this kind of thing a lot. Alaric preferred to ignore it, but this seemed to require an answer. Sleepy as he was, though, he had no desire to get into a debate about how trustworthy Damon might or might not be.  
  
“No, I’m not,” he said, with a note of finality in his voice that brooked no argument. For once, Damon didn’t argue.  
  
“What did it taste like?” Alaric asked a few minutes later.  
  
“Copper, salt,” Damon said. Alaric felt a little disappointed, and mildly suspicious.  
  
“You’re telling me blood tastes the same to vampires as it does to humans?” he said. “I’m not buying it, Damon. Stefan wouldn’t be an addict if it were like that. You wouldn’t have been – ”  
  
“Yes, Rick?”  
  
Alaric frowned. “You wouldn’t have sounded like that when you were drinking it, if it was copper and salt.”  
  
He felt Damon shrug. “It’s copper and salt,” he said. “But…” He paused so long Alaric almost prompted him again. “It’s more than that. Richer. It tastes like the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. Ambrosia. And I don’t mean that creepy fruit salad.”  
  
“Does it taste like other foods?”  
  
“Not exactly.” Damon’s voice was thoughtful now. For once. “You know how wine tasters use foods and woods and all that to describe a wine? It doesn’t actually _taste_ like that – not quite – but it’s a system you can use.”  
  
“So you can compare it to other foods,” Alaric said.  
  
“Sure. Other foods. Scents. The emotions you associate with them.”  
  
“What – ”  
  
“What do you taste like,” Damon interrupted, not even asking. Alaric could feel his face flush.  
  
“Well – ” he started defensively.  
  
“Oh, relax, Rick,” Damon said. “Everyone wants to know.”  
  
“Are you going to tell me?” Alaric asked after a lengthy pause. Damon’s fingers twitched on his chest.  
  
“Whiskey,” he said. His tone was so serious that Alaric suddenly regretted the question. “Old books or old libraries – musty, but in a good way. Clean sweat, the kind you want to lick off someone. Loneliness. Grief.”  
  
“All that?” Alaric asked, trying for a joking tone. It didn’t seem to come out very clearly.  
  
“Any other questions, or do you maybe want to bandage your wounds?” Damon asked, voice normal again.  
  
“Oh, shit.” Alaric touched his neck; his fingers came away wet, but it didn’t feel like he’d been bleeding profusely. At least, not since Damon had stopped actually sucking his blood out.  
  
Damon was across the room in an instant. He flicked on the bathroom light and then zoomed back to the side of the bed, where Alaric was struggling up.  
  
“Would you slow down?” Damon asked in an annoyed tone, giving Alaric a hand as he stood. His head swam, and he steadied himself on Damon’s arm until the feeling passed.  
  
“I’m okay,” he insisted, trying to let go as Damon walked him across the room.  
  
“Yeah, and if I let you fall and hit your head because _I_ drank your blood, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Damon muttered.  
  
The bathroom light seemed especially bright after the near-totally dark of the bedroom, and Alaric squinted as his eyes adjusted. Damon bustled around, pulled out bandages and antiseptic. Alaric stood docile as Damon wiped a few spots of blood off his skin and then cleaned the puncture marks on his neck. Normally he would have insisted on bandaging himself, but now he just watched the two of them in the mirror. He looked a little paler than usual, and Damon still looked far paler than him, although his cheeks were flushed.  
  
Damon taped the gauze carefully in place and patted Alaric’s neck with a self-satisfied air. “You’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a couple days, but don’t worry. Your students and the other teachers will assume you have a massive hickey.” Alaric rolled his eyes. “All right, let’s go fix you something to eat so your blood sugar doesn’t crash, and then I want to go to sleep because I’m fucking tired.”  
  
“ _You’re_ tired?” Alaric repeated in disbelief, as he followed Damon back to the bedroom and looked around for his boxers. “I just donated blood.”  
  
“And the Red Cross Vampire Division thanks you,” Damon said with a smirk. His smile faded as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants to wear to the kitchen, and suddenly he was standing in front of Alaric with his serious, slightly puzzled look. Alaric frowned, surprised to see it.  
  
“Thanks,” Damon said. “You could’ve let me go on thinking you were drinking vervain, and we might’ve never done this.”  
  
“I’m – glad I didn’t,” Alaric said. Damon flashed a smile and put Alaric’s shirt in his hands.  
  
“Get decent. I’ll make you something good. The Red Cross Vampire Division doesn’t stop with cookies.”  
  
Alaric smiled and followed Damon as he pulled his shirt on over his head.  
  
“They’d probably get more donors if they got you off while they were bleeding you, too.”  
  
Damon smirked over his shoulder in appreciation.  
  
“Suggest it to somebody, Rick. They’ll never try to take your blood again.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And that means more for me.” He flashed down the stairs to get started on whatever it was he was concocting.  
  
“More for you,” Alaric repeated, sotto voice, and followed Damon to the kitchen at his slow human pace.


End file.
